


It's Selfish, It's Obscene

by mitochondriencocktail



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation in Bathroom, Public Blow Jobs, Shameless Smut, bossy richard, sort of? ???? ? ? ? ? ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 11:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondriencocktail/pseuds/mitochondriencocktail
Summary: They're supposed to be celebrating, but all Richard can focus on is Jared over by the bar; chatting up that pretty brunet. He's being petty, crazy even, he knows this, but he just-- he can't help himself.





	It's Selfish, It's Obscene

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I was curious about the plausibility of a sexually aggressive Richard, so what started as an intended short exercise became roughly 2400 words of porn. Did I succeed? That's up to you, but, hey! It's free porn either way! 
> 
> S/O to bittyybee on tumblr who was supposed to beta this like a kind person does, but I'm too overeager and just wanted to post it because I have no self-control sometimes.

They’re supposed to be out celebrating, all of them. Dinesh, Gilfoyle, Monica, Bighead, Jared, and even Laurie made a brief appearance with her stilted conversation and single glass of Chilean chardonnay. 

Series B funding had come through from Bream Hall after a long and harrowing uphill battle that involved exactly one more negotiation with an angry store clerk at Whole Foods than Richard was expecting, but they fucking did it. 

Richard sits happily tucked into a booth of some  _ different  _ and very Gavin-unrelated Mexican restaurant that may also double as some kind of nightclub and bar. There’s a half-empty pitcher of beer next to him (the table’s third of the night) and it’s— people are having a good time. He’s glad. 

Dinesh and Gilfoyle are off by the bar, bickering amicably in that way of theirs; Monica’s holding the interest of some beefcake guy who she’ll inevitably break the heart of in the name of business; Bighead is— well, okay. 

Richard’s not sure where Bighead is, but he’s probably around here somewhere winning a million dollars or falling ass first into some kind of new genius startup. He’s always been like that, and, okay, Richard loves the guy, but it does get a little infuriating. A little enviable.

But this is Pied Piper’s night. It’s Richard’s night and— he catches a glimpse of blue pass by Dinesh and Gilfoyle, two drinks in hand. He frowns. Jared walks directly towards a pretty brunet and hands her one of the drinks. Richard purses his lips.

She’s still shorter than him in heels, but she’s definitely on the taller side. A slim-fitting black dress stops just before her knees, and she laughs at something Jared says, a hand on his arm.

The giddiness drains out of Richard. He slouches back into the stupid plastic booth and watches as Jared leans into her space, smiles. Touches her shoulder. 

It’s like a dance. 

One of those— those stupid bird mating dances that Jared had made Richard watch on the National Geographic website— that… that Richard had willingly sit through for some stupid fucking reason because it made Jared happy.

Richard watches them flit back and forth, happy little birdies no doubt making plans to return to Jared’s nest or whatever the fuck he calls it. He slides out of the booth on a sudden impulse and heads towards the bathroom, typing up a text.

**To Jared:  
** _ In the bathroom. Can we talk real quick? _

He stares at it for a moment and the small voice of rationality holding on inside of Richard knows he should delete it. Go sit back down. Order a drink. Find someone to talk to. Even go home maybe. He’s thirty years old and doesn’t need to— to be acting like this. A petty child.

Richard hears Jared laugh from across the bar and hits send.

He’s staring at himself in the mirror, one of those horribly weird moments of self-realization, when Jared walks in. His eyes are wide and he immediately homes in on Richard.

“Is everything alright, Richard? I got your text.” He holds up his phone as if to prove it. Like he’d ever even dare try lying to Richard.

They catch eyes briefly in the mirror and Richard bites his lip, shakes his head. “Uh, yeah, I’m. It’s just…” He thinks of the brunet, her arm on Jared, her lips wrapped around his— Richard sucks in a breath and swallows. 

Some low churning of anger sparks to life. He turns around to face Jared, looking down at his feet as he moves into his space, crowds him wordlessly into a bathroom stall.

“Richard, what’s—” 

He locks the door behind them and shoves a kiss against Jared’s lips.

Richard fumbles to get a hand down Jared’s boxers; sloppy, uncoordinated. He’s too frustrated to be self-conscious, and his other arm tightens around Jared’s waist. Pulls him in close in the cramped bathroom stall, sharp and sudden so that Jared’s hands have to come rest on Richard’s shoulders for balance. 

Richard still can’t look him in the eyes, but he’s— he’s upset. Angry. Not— not at Jared. He can’t be mad at him anymore, it’s too much effort, but he’s upset at  _ something. _

“I can give you more than she can,” Richard says, and he knows how he sounds. He’s not that oblivious. It’s the same voice he’s used since childhood when one of these moods strike; petulant, pouting. 

The same one he fucking used last week when they ran out of almond milk for his Honey Bunches of Oats. The same one he used on Bighead once in high school when they had a huge fight over a girl. 

Richard didn’t even really  _ like _ the girl, but, fuck. He didn’t like being ignored either.

But he thinks… With Jared, he likes him. He does. And it’s terrible because Richard’s not good at this. At articulating things with words or his body and he’d— fuck. 

He’d thought of at least a million other scenarios, but of course he corners Jared like some creep in a public bathroom, practically forcing him into being jerked off.

That’s all Richard knows how to do, really. Jerk a guy off. God knows he’s done it enough for himself over the years.

But he’s— Jared shouldn’t ignore Richard like that. That’s what Richard’s trying to process; Jared leaving him, choosing some other non-viable suitor over Richard and inevitably evaporating out of his life.

He can’t have that. Not again.

“Richard, what’re you…” Jared sucks in a breath when Richard cups his soft dick, a cold hand against heated skin. “Richard,” he tries again, but he’s backed into the wall of the stall and kissed again. Their teeth clack and Richard internally winces.

“I can make you feel good,” Richard says against his lips. “I’m going to make you feel good, just— watch, okay?” He undoes the rest of Jared’s belt, loosens it enough so that he can shove his khakis and boxers down just enough to get to his dick. There’s a thin trail of dark hair that leads from Jared’s stomach to his groin where his pubes are neatly trimmed.

He preens a bit when he sees Jared already getting a little hard in his hand.

“Cool,” Richard says, nodding, smiling a bit to himself. He leans in close and starts stroking him, maybe a bit too roughly, a little too dry and quick, but Jared doesn’t stop him. In fact, he’s really watching. Just like Richard told him to. Head thrown back, hands gripping at Richard’s shoulders. Richard thinks he even hears Jared make a noise; something breathy, just for Richard.

“Do you— do you like this? Watching me touch you?”

Jared starts nodding before he can verbalize an answer, but he manages a hoarse, “Yeah— yes. Yes, Richard. I like it a lot.”

“Better than what that girl can do, right?”

Jared nods again, more animated this time. “Yes. Yes, Richard.”

Richard twists his hand on an upstroke in response, revelling in the noise Jared makes. 

It doesn’t take long for him to get fully hard, stiff and pink in Richard’s fist, and Richard is just— oh, he’s delighted now. A little dizzy, a little manic feeling.

He blames impulse for dropping to his knees and taking Jared in his mouth in one fell swoop. He chokes almost immediately and has to pull off to lean back on his hands, and his cheeks flush with angry embarrassment. 

“Richard, you don’t have to do that,” Jared says. He starts to move, but Richard pins him with a sour look.

“No,” Richard says, doubling down. He finally meets Jared’s eyes with a dark determination. “I’m fucking going to. That’s what— she’d do it, right? Wouldn’t she?” he asks, a trail of spite lingering in his words. Hands fasten down on Jared’s hips like rivets and shove him against the stall once more. Richard takes a deep breath before going back in.

With caution is how he approaches it this time, pulling from gratuitously watched pornos filled with unrealistic looking people, and— and maybe Richard and Jared are a little unrealistic looking in their own way. Sometimes Richard’s life gets so weird, he swears he’ll wake up any moment back at Stanford, late for a calc exam.

He laps at the head of Jared’s dick and doesn’t wake up somewhere else. This is his life, and it’s passing by one second at a time, just like it always has. He’s momentarily relieved. Perpetually mortified. Getting kind of a boner from this.

Experimentally, he takes a little more of Jared into his mouth, encouraged by the building of little noises spilling out of Jared. He reaches out to grip Jared’s wrist hard and drag his hand into his hair. 

Blowing a guy isn’t— it’s not the grossest thing Richard’s put in his mouth, and he kind of likes it in a certain way, mostly because it’s Jared. Because he can make him respond like this, so unlike the pristine and composed version that flits around the house handling tax forms and drinking kombucha. Not that… not that Richard doesn’t like that version either, that is to say.

A hand around the base of Jared’s dick matches Richard’s unsteady bobbing, and he’s eager, which has to count for something, right? 

He laves his tongue against the underside of Jared’s dick, shudders a bit at the tang of sweat and precome, but he sucks it up and does it again and again until he can’t stand it anymore, and leans back to jerk him off again. Faster now with the help of his saliva, loud enough so that if anybody walked in, it’d be undeniable what they were doing.

Richard decides he likes the idea of that.

Jared’s face is slick with a thin sheen of sweat that’s loosened up his hair, allowing some floppy strands to tumble down. His eyes are hooded with lust and a little red around the edges, puffy maybe, and Richard is scrambling to stand up, to kiss him. 

He kisses him again and again and Jared lets him while Richard reaches for his dick to finish him off, and Richard is hard— god, is he hard— and he’s grinding against Jared’s hip with a desperate sort of motion.

“Are you gonna come?” Richard asks. “I want you to come,” he demands now, voice edging towards a hint of a whine. “I want you to fucking come for me, Jared.” It’s his petulant voice; anger and arousal and maybe even some tears coalescing into something bigger than Richard and Jared and aggressive bathroom stall handjobs. 

“Richard… Richard, please, this is…” Jared pants, hunching in on himself, balancing himself on Richard. He keeps repeating his name until his hips spasm forward and Richard’s watching him come with incredible gratification. 

The aftermath is messy and Richard’s not sure what to do with the come on his hand, so he wipes it on Jared’s shirt, leaving a hazy white smear. A reminder. A marker. He watches Jared’s face for any sign of noncompliance, but he just stares; placid, waiting. “Thank you,” he says. His tongue sneaks out to wet his lips.

“Get on your knees,” Richard orders. It’s a little shaky, sure, but he’s palming himself through his jeans and he’s not sure how much longer he can last without something touching his dick. 

Jared obeys, and, alright, Richard starts to lose the thread of control a bit here because Jared starts moving on his own, which is a lot to process. He’s nuzzling the bulge in Richard’s jeans, hands framing his hips with a gentle reverence, and pushing Richard against the stall wall. 

His long legs fold as best they can to accommodate to the cramped space, but they still peek out underneath this stall and into the next.

“Hold— hold on,” Richard says, pushing Jared away. He ignores the startled look on his face and focuses instead on getting his dick out and pulling Jared’s jaw down. “Open.”

Jared licks his lips again before complying. He swallows Richard down with a slackened jaw, and Richard curls fingers into his damp hair, thrusting forward. Jared doesn’t gag. “ _ Fuuuck _ me,” Richard swears, voice skittering higher when he realizes this. He thrusts again, and Jared takes it. 

They build a steady rhythm quickly and Richard gets him a few times— gets Jared to seize up and choke, even pull away at one point to spit onto the floor with a pained look— but it’s more or less smooth. Richard face-fucking Jared like some fucking crazy real life porno.

He shoves Jared off when he feels his stomach clenching, takes his own dick in his hand and starts stroking, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Back, lean back,” he says, and his voice is wavering now. The anger from before has simmered into something tamer supplemented firmly by the happy dream-like look on Jared’s face. The way he listens to Richard so obediently.

He stares at Jared’s waiting expression and— shit, some part of Richard wants to finish on his face, but he just. He can’t. He’s pulling Jared up by the shoulders suddenly and guiding his hand to his dick, kissing him as he cants his hips upwards into Jared’s hand.

Richard stains the side of Jared’s shirt, his fists clenching the material tightly with his head buried into Jared’s chest, and he lets out a whimper.

Richard is exhausted suddenly in a way he hasn’t felt in— well, probably a few days. He’s commonly pretty exhausted. But he’s not usually exhausted in a bathroom stall with Jared holding his softening dick, an arm around his waist like they’re dancing at fucking prom.

The reality of the situation settles in around Richard like a handful of gravel sinking to the bottom of a pool. His hands are still fisted into Jared’s shirt, and he can hear a rapid heartbeat thumping away with trepidation. He’s waiting for an answer Richard doesn’t have.

“Was I better than her?” It’s not— it isn’t the right thing to say, but it isn’t really the wrong thing to say either, which Richard thinks he can handle.

“We should head home, perhaps,” Jared says, still a bit breathless, still holding onto Richard. He cranes his head down to press a not-quite-kiss to Richard’s head.

Richard hides a smile in the fabric of his shirt.


End file.
